


close enough to touch

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different Framework Universe (Marvel), F/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-08 16:24:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16432847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: Reeducation is always hanging over the heads of those agents like Jemma who joined Hydra unwillingly





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "things I wish you said" from an anon on tumblr.
> 
> I know some of you are probably seeing the chapters tag up there and thinking it's yet another JD series that will go unfinished. But it will not! I originally wrote this as one (very long) oneshot but decided it would do better as a two-parter. So while part two is in need of a little tweaking and maybe an added scene, it will be posted in a reasonable amount of time.

A chill of awareness races up Jemma’s spine and a moment later a figure blocks her view of the right side of the lab.

“Simmons,” Levens says. His fingers trail lightly up her arm. She’s grateful for her lab coat; little protection as it provides, it’s better than nothing. “How’ve you been?”

She doesn’t bother looking for help. None of the other scientists are high-ranking enough to take Levens on, and while there is one other guard, he doesn’t seem worried that he’s interfering with her productivity.

“Busy,” she says curtly, hoping—and knowing it’s pointless—that he’ll take the hint.

He steps closer, wet breath ghosting over her skin. She suppresses a shudder. “I’ve noticed. But maybe now that you’ve got a little free time-”

“Not for you, I don’t,” she interrupts as anger sweeps through her. She knows why Levens keeps his attentions intermittent but having it said so openly that his respect of her space, when he bothers with respect, has nothing to do with her is galling. “It’s only a day and,” she adds swiftly, “even if it were months, do you really think he-”

Glass shatters. Metal strikes the floor and spins to a stop, filling the room with its echoing cadence.

“Dammit Myers!” Agent Vorsch yells. He’s already got the poor lab assistant by the elbow and is dragging her across the room to where the other guard stands. “If you can’t even carry a simple tray without fucking it up, you obviously need some more adjustments.”

Myers might flinch or it might only be the jolt from Vorsch throwing her at the guard. She certainly seems unaffected, standing with limp limbs and a down-turned head.

“Get her fixed up,” Vorsch says to the guard. “And you, don’t you come back until you can do your fucking job.”

“Happy to comply,” she says and goes easily where the guard leads her. He, at least, seems gentle, but Jemma knows that could just as easily be explained away as an irrational fear of contamination. Of course reeducation isn’t contagious—it’s a programmed set of responses and actions dug into the brain over a period of intense therapy—but avoiding those who are ill in body or mind is an evolutionary instinct to prevent infection. There are few in Hydra who are immune to it, reason be damned.

Levens hums low in his throat, considering. She startles at the sound. Myers’ plight was enough to distract her from his presence and being reminded with him already so close puts her off balance.

“Maybe we should get you some of that,” he says. He’s toying idly with her hair while his eyes remain on the door Myers and the other guard left through. She fights the urge to squirm away, too caught up in the disquieting feeling of his hands on her to process his words until he speaks again. “If you ask me, it wouldn’t make much difference to your work at all if you were a little more compliant. Put that smart mouth of yours to better use, you know?”

Cold fear sweeps over her. She doesn’t feel Levens’ proximity or even the ground beneath her feet. She _does_ feel the slap he delivers to her rear as he leaves her side, but much like poor Myers, she can’t react. Her mind is whirling, terror making it spin from fact to fact like a child’s top. Levens has been Hydra since before the uprising. The only reason he’s so low ranking as to be assigned to lab guard duty is that he’s an utter ass. But that doesn’t mean he’s lacking in friends. Some of his Hydra classmates are high-ranking agents in this very base. Would they mark an expendable lab tech down for reeducation solely at his request?

With hands made steady only by years of practice, she returns to work. Vorsch doesn’t comment on her slacking—he may be her supervisor, but Hydra’s politics are such that he doesn’t dare pick on her when an operative is interested in her. Levens doesn’t either, but she can feel him watching her, his gaze almost worse than his touch was.

 

\-----

 

Once returned to her quarters—nicer than reluctant recruits of her level typically receive—she downs one beer for dinner to calm her nerves and then heads straight to bed. She doesn’t sleep. She tosses and turns, so desperate for rest she’s nearly brought to tears.

In the morning, she takes one look in the mirror, thinks about returning to the lab, and promptly deposits what’s left in her stomach of the beer in the toilet.

She keeps to her quarters for the day.

She doesn’t bother to call in. There’s no need for that. When she doesn’t arrive for her shift, someone will simply look in on her via the multiple surveillance feeds on the apartment. They’ll see her still in bed, back it up to see she’s been ill, and her absence will be excused.

But it won’t be overlooked. She knows, after what happened yesterday—forget Levens’ threats, Myers’ setback was more than enough—her behavior over the last sixteen hours will be seen as weakness. A sign of discontent.

Reeducation is always hanging over the heads of those agents like Jemma who joined Hydra unwillingly. She rolls to her back to take the pressure off her shoulder but doesn’t dare massage away the tension. She thought the two gunshot wounds she suffered would kill her and had no expectation of waking up after the pain stole her consciousness away.

But she did wake up. In the Academy’s medical wing, handcuffed to a bed, with a chart at her feet that marked her as bearing intelligence of a level too great to be sacrificed so casually in the uprising. This time they did not offer her death or Hydra. It was to be enslavement, but it was up to her what kind. She could work willingly for her captors and would-be murderers, lose only the freedom to do what she pleased, or she could lose freedom in her mind as well.

She remembers that day in the infirmary, when she and those other agents deemed too valuable were shown precisely what was waiting for them. The things they made that poor man do…

She shivers and pulls her blankets tighter around her, feigning a chill. Anyone watching will know it’s unlikely she’s truly sick and today will be marked down in her file as a potential symptom of rebellion. Whether Levens has suggested her for reeducation or someone considers it later, the damage is done. She’s made herself vulnerable, exposed her fears as outweighing her loyalty.

Her only option then, is to play her king and hope he’s enough to save her.

 

\-----

 

Late in the evening, when she’s finally fallen into a light doze, the door opens. For a moment she’s afraid; brought out of a clinging nightmare, she fears they’ve come to drag her away for reeducation. But then she hears the thump of a knee striking the table just beside the door, the scrape of wood against tile, the soft curse of someone trying to be quiet so as not to disturb her.

She stays as she is in bed, back to the door, and sees Grant come on socked feet, boots in his hand, around the side of the room. He sets the boots carefully beside the dresser before easing a drawer open. He’s half undressed by the time he turns to see her fully awake.

“Hey,” he says, surprised.

“Hey,” she returns, her voice small and raw, a reminder of the way the last twenty-four hours have dragged on her.

He drops the shirt he’s holding and crosses to her side, going to his knees so he can rest his chin on the mattress. “They told me you were under the weather. How you feeling?”

The truth—terrible, scared—begs to be spoken, but it’s all the same, isn’t it? When has she not felt sick with the work Hydra forces her to do? When has she not been afraid for her life since the day SHIELD fell?

“Hey,” he says again and this time she finds herself lifted, maneuvered into his lap. She clings to him, sobbing like a little girl into his shirt.

He soothes her until her cries fade. When he presses her—gently, so gently—to tell him what’s wrong—because he can tell by now it’s more than just sickness that has her so worked up—she eases away. Not out of his embrace or out of his lap—she needs his warmth and support as much as she needs him to remember all he gains from her presence here—but far enough she can face him properly. Her tear-stained face will remind him better than her strained voice of how bitterly she cried.

She tells him everything. She apologizes for Levens advances as much as she does for not telling him sooner. She was afraid, she says, that if it came to a head between them, Grant would be the one to lose.

That much is true. Or it was. When Levens first made his interest in her known, she was afraid that if she told Grant he would make an issue of it and his clout in Hydra would outweigh Levens’. And it’s true that Levens has high-ranking friends, but she’s known for some time that Grant is too valuable a specialist for Hydra to casually put his wants and desires aside. Why else would Levens keep his most overt advances to times when he’s away on assignment?

She tells him about Myers and about Levens’ threat. And she watches Grant’s gaze grow gratifyingly dark and dangerous.

But for all his anger, he’s gentle with her when she’s finished. He would leave her to sleep if she let him—he’s so sweet, so kind, so utterly at odds with everything this place is supposed to be—but she wants him to carry one last reminder with him when he goes. She needs him to remember why he wants her as she is, so she ignores his order to rest and drags him down with her.

She writhes under him the way he likes, cries prettily for him when he touches her, says his name like a prayer. And in return, he presses kisses to her scars, his stubble scraping the sensitive skin around them while he buries himself in her and his face in her shoulder.

“I won’t let him take you,” he says. His hands are rough. She can feel the dirt on them from his mission. It stains her skin. “I promised I’d protect you and I meant it.”

She’s wound too high to sag in relief, but her heart eases. She can only hope now that his protection is enough.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Levens smirks at her when she returns for work the next day but he says nothing and makes no move on her. He wouldn’t, not while Grant is on base.

Myers returns the day after that, dazed and emptier than before. Jemma wonders if she’s drugged or simply so broken she sways always now to a melody only she can hear. Perhaps that’s better, to be so lost you no longer know you are.

The swell of pity she feels for the poor woman is pierced by a cold awareness. Levens is watching again, smirking again. The last words he spoke to her echo in her ears. _Put that smart mouth of yours to better use_. She knows, somehow, that he’s imagining her with Myers’ empty smile, happy to drop to her knees before him.

She fights down nausea. If she’s sick again the same day Myers returns, there’s little chance even Grant could save her from sharing the woman’s fate.

Through sheer force of will she makes it through that day and the next. On the morning Grant’s set to leave on another mission, she wakes early. It’s nerves, she thinks, and she longs to leap out of bed, begin her morning routine, buzz around the apartment like an agitated fly. But more than that, she wants him to stay. Her life would be so much easier if only he were always here, always standing between her and the rest of Hydra.

She watches him sleep, as ever in awe of how a man with such a brutal history can sleep so peacefully. He’s handsome. It wouldn’t change her feelings if he weren’t but it’s a welcome bonus.

“You’re staring,” he says. There’s no change in his breathing or his expression. If she hadn’t heard him speak, she wouldn’t even know he’s awake. It’s … strangely charming.

“I-”

He opens his eyes properly and his mouth twists into a grin she’s sorry to see fade. “What?” he asks.

She stares, wide-eyed with what he must recognize as horror. There are words caught on her tongue, ones she doesn’t dare say but that are almost painful to keep back now she knows they’re there.

“Baby?” he asks. He pushes himself up onto one arm. “Jemma?”

She shakes her head. She can’t speak or the words will spill out, she’s sure of it. So she kisses him instead, says with her body what she can’t say aloud.

 

\-----

 

She’s late to work as a result. Vosch gives her a frown but no reprimand. The other techs ignore her so as not to risk her spared punishment falling on them instead. Levens fixes her with a predatory look she can feel all through the morning.

It’s obscene, really, the focus he levels on her. In a better world, he’d be too ashamed to do such a thing.

She’s on edge for hours, expecting him to make his move, so it’s almost a relief when he finally approaches her and she can be properly frightened. Her heart leaps into her throat at a quick glance at the clock. It’s nearly five. In a few minutes the lab will empty for the evening and if he prevents her from following the others out at that time…

“You’ve been quiet last few days,” he says, leaning his elbows back against her lab bench in a casual lounge.

 _Isn’t that exactly what you wanted?_ she thinks bitterly, but doesn’t dare say aloud. Admitting to doing anything he might want—even unintentionally—is sure to end in disaster.

He grins, leans in so that she fears he might try to kiss her. “I don’t hate it.”

She wishes she could talk properly to Grant. This would be so much easier if she knew he’d taken measures to protect her from Levens. Then she’d know whether slapping him might get her carted off or not. And honestly she might risk it regardless if there weren’t the risk of that getting him exactly what he wants. She’d gladly be brainwashed if it meant she never had to suffer his touch again.

As if reading her thoughts, he slides an arm around her back, pulling her close. “What’s the matter, baby? Ward not treating you right? Maybe you just need a real man.”

“Let me go,” she says.

He chuckles, low and dark. “Make me.”

“How about _I_ make you?”

Levens whirls so fast it sends Jemma stumbling away. Luckily there are strong arms ready to catch her, steadying her so she can focus on Grant facing Levens down.

“So the picture I’m getting here,” Grant says, “is that I leave for a few hours to further the glory of Hydra, and _you_ take the opportunity to move in on my girl.” He steps casually closer while he speaks, his ease at odds with the stiff fury Levens projects.

This isn’t Grant. Not any Grant Jemma has ever seen. This is the man he leaves behind when he comes home to her and it’s oddly thrilling to see him occupying Grant’s familiar frame.

“She’s an asset,” Levens says, trying and failing to sound like he’s in control. “Just because you’ve got dibs now-”

Faster than Jemma can track, Grant lashes out. There’s a blur of movement, the bang of hard flesh striking the harder tabletop, and then Levens is cursing, clutching his nose while blood streams through his fingers.

“You _bastard_!” he howls. “I’ll fucking murder you!”

Grant completely ignores him to fix her with a cold stare. “You,” he says, that single syllable enough to send ice crackling along her veins, “I’ll deal with in private. Let’s go.”

The woman supporting her gives her a nudge and Jemma sees, finally, that it’s Skye, Grant’s partner. They’ve both come back. So soon. Was it for this? For her? Was Grant’s mission only a ruse to draw Levens out?

Her mind whirls while she follows Grant. He takes her roughly by the arm as soon as they’re out of the lab, practically dragging her through the stream of her colleagues who have just finished their shifts.

Jovial conversations cease when they pass by. Guards and scientists alike move aside to make room. No one, not even in the heart of Hydra, dares get in his way. That’s how dark the look on Grant’s face is.

Is he truly angry with her? She told him about Levens, apologized even in a way that was sure to stroke his ego. Perhaps she’s misjudged him. She was so pleased when Grant approached her to pursue a relationship. It was immediately apparent the protection a man such as him could provide her. But maybe that protection has blinded her to a danger she never stopped to consider.

“No,” she tries to say when he pulls her into a lift and gets only a firm shake to silence her. The poor souls already on board practically paste themselves to the walls. The doors slide shut just after Skye comes to stand at Jemma’s side. And the car begins its motion—downward.

“I tried to warn you,” she whispers to Grant. He’s in such a tiff he didn’t even notice they were going the wrong way. Now they’ll have to wait to go back up.

But after the agonizing ride—three stops on the way and no one dares board once they see them—Grant pulls her out. There’s some confusion with the guards at the front as agents of her particular classification aren’t supposed to leave base without approval; she hasn’t been outside this building since last year when she was called into the field to examine a bit of could-be-alien residue on a meteor. (It wasn’t.)

“Listen,” Grant says. “I just found my girlfriend with her ass in some mouth-breather’s hands and I’d like to-” he sighs slowly- “take care of this somewhere with fewer prying eyes.”

Jemma’s mouth drops open. That is _not_ what happened. Surely Grant doesn’t think-

But then Skye makes some sort of _it’s best just to go along_ motion to the guards and they’re letting them through. She barely feels the open air, she only sees the car Skye hurries to open to them, the dark hole of the backseat like a cave she might never leave.

 

\-----

 

They’re five miles away from the Triskelion when Skye, who’s up in the front driving, sags in her seat. “Oh my _God_!” she gasps. She throws them a cold look in the rear-view. “You can stop with the touching now, Ward.”

Grant doesn’t so much ignore her as he tightens the arm draped around Jemma’s shoulders, tugging her closer. “You’re probably confused,” he says. He sounds amused, but he also doesn’t sound mad anymore so Jemma’s taking it as a good sign.

“Very,” she agrees.

He smiles and brushes his knuckles down her cheek. “Well, the first thing you need to know is that I’m really a SHIELD agent.”

Skye mutters something Jemma can’t make out.

“And we’re rescuing you.”

Jemma gapes. Grant is- All this time? But she thought-

Her forehead falls to his chest and he holds the back of her head, chuckling now. “Yeah, big shock. Believe me when I say I know how you feel.”

She really doesn’t think he can.

He pushes her up, his thumb sweeping the edge of her cheek while he stares at her. “I’ve been wanting to get you out for a while, but-”

“Oh, will you knock it off?” Skye demands. They’re well away from base by now and she pulls them off the main road violently. Grant holds Jemma tight to keep her from getting knocked around the cabin.

Once they’re stopped at the edge of a barren parking lot, Skye twists in her seat. “The _more important thing_ you need to know,” she says, “is that you’re not really dating Ward. All of this—from Hydra running the world to Inhumans being second-class citizens to you and Ward being-” she makes a sick sound while gesturing to them- “whatever you are—is a virtual reality. It’s a computer simulation. It’s _not real_. The real world is _much_ better.”

“Well…,” Grant says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, don’t get her hopes up.”

“How is the real world _not_ better?”

“Well, first off, SHIELD’s not doing too great there either—you did have to come to me for help—and the Inhumans _are_ being tagged by the government, and I think anyone would agree Simmons’ love life is better here than it is there.”

Skye takes special offense to that for some reason and the argument grows heated. As Jemma’s head is already spinning, she stops paying attention entirely to focus on processing.

It’s possible, surely. Essentially the reeducation process is nothing more than convincing the human brain to see reality the way Hydra prefers. Why shouldn’t it be possible to trick the mind into seeing an entirely false reality? But, if it’s true, the implications are almost soul shattering.

Not real? Her world? Her life?

Grant’s smile deepens as Skye grows more incensed. It’s mean, on the edge of cruel. What was it she thought when he attacked Levens? This is a stranger in her Grant’s body.

 

\-----

 

“Hey.”

She tenses up at the sound of his voice. She’s taken to avoiding him since their arrival at SHIELD’s underground base several days ago. She’s avoided _everyone_ , honestly. With each new arrival, each supposed prisoner in this world Grant and Daisy—as Skye claims to be called in that other reality—bring in, Jemma retreats.

It was one thing when it was just Mace. Whether he believes their story or not makes no difference, he has this world to defend and he won’t sacrifice the safety of billions of lives here for a handful of individuals. It’s an attitude Jemma is sympathetic towards, despite her belief in Grant and Daisy’s assertions; she would love to live in a better world, if there is one, but that doesn’t mean she wants to lose hers. It’s the only one she knows.

But with each new arrival, the picture becomes more complicated. There’s Coulson, who’s almost too eager to believe the story. And Mack, who is too concerned with protecting his daughter to care about anyone else.

So rather than join them in discussing this strange new reality, she works. Currently, she’s working on repairing a new class of weapon salvaged from a recent raid. As engineering has never been her forte, it’s slow going, made even slower when Grant drops onto the bench beside her.

He gives her ample space, but his proximity is distraction enough she can’t seem to remember which of these wires connects to the battery even though she just spent half an hour ferreting out that problem.

“How you holding up?” he asks.

“As well as can be expected under the circumstances, I imagine.”

Though she isn’t looking at him, she can feel his smile. “She’ll be fine,” he says. “Daisy’s been through worse than this.”

Jemma pulls herself from her work—she’s going to have to start over from the beginning, she just knows it—to focus fully on him. “Daisy?” She thought he was talking about … well, about _everything_.

“Yeah.” He leans in slightly, his focus narrowing. “She was captured? You were in that meeting.”

Ah. Right. She did know that.

She turns back to her work.

Grant’s hand rests on her shoulder, stilling her before she can do more than detach one of the wires. “She’s gonna be okay,” he says again.

She turns to face him, forcing him to drop his arm. “Is that why you’re here?” she asks. “To make sure I’m dealing with Daisy’s capture well?”

He looks, for just a moment, lost. It’s such a vulnerable expression she can’t help but be reminded of her Grant. But then it slips away, replaced by his usual calm, collected demeanor. She wondered at first if that might just be a mask, a way of protecting himself here, among people he doesn’t know, in this dangerous environment, but it’s become increasingly clear this is his usual attitude.

“Well, you two have always been close. In the real world, I mean.”

“Yes, I gathered as much,” she says, speaking almost over him. Her voice is colder than she means it to be but she can’t seem to help it. He made her relationship with Daisy clear himself with his pointedly gentle treatment of Jemma. He enjoyed it as a means to aggravate Daisy, who clearly disliked him as much as the Skye Jemma knew had liked her Grant. And the only reason seeing them together would bother her so much would be if Jemma was meant to be on the outs with him as well.

She thinks she knows now the answer to the question of Myers’ tranquility. It was better not knowing. It was easier when the tragedy of her life was inescapable. She didn’t have hope things might be better, only the little joys of her good days—those were enough. But now she has hope and also fear—what if Grant’s right and this mess of a world really is her best life—and none of the joy.

His answering smile is slow and tight. “So she told you.”

She shakes her head. “She hasn’t told me anything.” She’s wanted to. Though Jemma tries to avoid Daisy as well as everyone else, her efforts have been thwarted more than once and often Daisy has begun to speak only to cut herself short. It’s not hard to guess what—or who—she wanted to talk to her about. “Except that you’re a traitor.”

That was aimed at Grant though. When he pointed out one too many times that _he_ was a member of the resistance while _Skye_ had been loyal to Hydra, Daisy rounded on him to point out that he was “a traitor in every version of reality.”

“I imagine that means you lied to us,” Jemma says, forcing the words out carefully. It’s strange, still, that she and Daisy would be an _us_ where she and Grant are not.

“Just like your version of me.”

The words are meant as a slap and she feels them as such.

“No,” she says. She doesn’t know the details of this man’s betrayal, but she knows in her heart that it wasn’t the same. “He lied to protect us. He was doing what he believed to be right.”

“So was I.” He leans in close again. “I did bad things to save people I loved. How many people did your me kill and torture while he was keeping you warm in his bed? How many people would he have killed to get you out of there?”

He’s said that before, that Grant had plans to free her.

He stands and his shadow falls over her. “No matter what Daisy might want to believe, that guy you knew was a whole lot more like me than he was like any idiot astronaut or pasty engineer.”

Jemma has no idea what that means, but as he seems to deem it a biting enough parting statement that he’s finally leaving her be, she can’t really be bothered by it.

 

\-----

 

Regret. That’s what Daisy tells them when she returns—along with Agent May, supposedly another prisoner, and Inhuman powers enough to level a building. She says more of course. She has the location of a back door through which they will all be able to escape this world and while there was some fighting about whether they would take it, they’ll at least be leaving to investigate come morning. But regret was what Jemma heard the loudest. This world is built on their regrets. The wrong choices undone, the deaths unwritten, they’ve all come together to create this reality.

She doesn’t know what the others’ regrets might have been—and she doesn’t know enough of that other world to even begin to guess—but she can guess her own. It’s easy, really, considering she regrets it now.

Grant isn’t sleeping when she enters his quarters. Her Grant would have been. With the impending mission, he would take every opportunity to rest so that he’d be at his best. But perhaps this version is more restless.

She wonders what his regret would have been.

He’s packing a bag. Weapons and supplies for tomorrow. He barely stops to notice her in the doorway. “You need something?”

“I was hoping we could talk,” she says.

He hesitates, a throwing knife in his hand, then drops it into the bag and shifts the whole thing to the floor, making room so that when he sits, there’s plenty of space for her to do the same without feeling crowded.

He keeps doing that and she wonders if it’s his way of apologizing for the way he treated her at first.

Warmed by the thought, she strips off the over-sized jacket she wears to stave off the base’s lingering chill and comes to rest her knees on either side of his legs. He sits back to better balance her weight, his hands wrapping immediately around her hips to keep her steady.

“Talk?” he asks with that same smug amusement he wears so often. Is it just this world that amuses him so or is he always something of an ass?

His sparkling eyes wander over her, following the curve of her neck, exploring the bare skin her camisole leaves uncovered, and narrowing on her scars. He thumbs the thin straps of her top and bra aside to better see.

“Hydra did this to you?” he asks.

She shakes her head—not in denial, but in a rejection. “I talk,” she says, using the flats of her fingers against his cheek to bring him around to face her. “You listen.”

He makes no answer but she’ll take that as an agreement.

“You’re not my Grant. I don’t know who you are or who I even am.”

Something in his expression softens in pity so deep it makes her think of Myers.

“But there’s something I wanted to tell my Grant, something I should have told him and-” Her throat tightens and her voice breaks. Grant’s hands are gently massaging her hips, giving her silent support. And that’s close enough, just barely near enough to the man she wishes he were that she can pretend well enough to say, “I love you.”

He stills, giving no sign of what he might be thinking. She leans in, kisses him.

His stubble is rough the way it should be, his hands leave marks in all the right places, her name still sounds the same on his lips. It’s one last night. It’s all she can want.

 


End file.
